Singularity
by Archaeosine
Summary: The mind of Leon Powalski is certainly quite unique, but is it true that no two minds are alike? A look at the evolution of Leon. Pre Star Fox 64.
1. Chapter 1

The appearance of a house sometimes reflects the nature of its inhabitants. This was certainly true in the case of one particular home, an elegant four-story townhouse located in Corneria City's most affluent district. Its ornate windows seemed to cast a condescending gaze upon its city block, as if to say that the surrounding buildings were not worthy of being in its presence. The pride of its occupants practically shined upon the polished marble walls of the townhouse.

The owner of the lavish home was a chameleon by the name of Stanislaus Powalski. The son of aristocrats, Stanislaus had pursued a career in the Cornerian Armed Forces, as was expected of an individual of such noble heritage. He enlisted in the Air Force, where he evolved into a skilled pilot. Stanislaus became known as something of a hero for his role in a series of space battles that ended in victory for the Cornerians. After retiring from the Force, he sought election as a senator in the Cornerian Congress. A highly decorated, intelligent ex-pilot with a reputation for courage, Stanislaus had little difficultly getting elected time and time again. His wife, Karolina, was the daughter of a wealthy businessman and the heiress to her family's fortune; theirs was the classic political marriage of notable and notable. The chameleon couple had one child, a son whom they named Leon.

Stanislaus and Karolina took great care to ensure that Leon received a proper upbringing. He was, after all, the scion of their family; he had to be primed to carry on the Powalski legacy. Leon's parents used their vast fortune to hire the best tutors money could buy for their son. They were not content to allow their progeny to receive anything less than a stellar education.

The knowledge of the teachers was not wasted on Leon. At the scant age of nine years, it looked as if he was destined for success. Not only did his mind retain even the most minute details of every subject he was taught, he had a genuine desire to learn as much as possible. Knowledge fascinated Leon, and was awed by the prowess of his teachers. His young mind associating intelligence with superiority, a sense of ardent determination was instilled in him. Leon was intent on achieving his perfection by learning as much as he possibly could.

Leon smiled as he heard the ringing of the townhouse's front doorbell. It was 8:30 am, and the noise indicated the arrival of his math tutor, a Blue Jay he knew as Mrs. Cornell. Any opportunity to further his studies was an opportunity Leon relished. He walked down to the vestibule to greet his teacher.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cornell." Even at his young age, Leon possessed a unique personality. He seemed perpetually calm, with a natural air of sophistication. In true aristocratic fashion, his sedate outward appearance rarely betrayed his true feelings.

"Good morning, Leon. We're starting our unit on trigonometry today."

"I'm looking forward to it," Leon replied softly. "Let's begin."

Leon walked over to the spare room in the townhouse that had been converted into a classroom. He had never been enrolled in a public school; the teachers always came to him. Mrs. Cornell felt more than a bit unnerved as she followed Leon. The boy's indecipherability disquieted her; Leon always seemed to be quietly calculating something, and he never gave any indication as to what. He was virtually unreadable. In spite of his peculiarity, however, she had no intention of quitting as his tutor. As long as the rich Powalskis employed her, financial concerns would not be amongst her worries.

Leon sat down at his desk and became quite still. Being a chameleon, he could follow his teacher simply by swiveling his eyes; this habit only increased Mrs. Cornell's uneasiness. Still, she carried on with her lesson.

"Through the use of trigonometry, we can find any angle. There are three sides in a right triangle, Leon. They are the hypotenuse, the…"

Although a slight smile was the only hint that gave it away, Leon was elated. Nothing gave him more joy than applying his mind. Learning was the chief interest in the young boy's life.

"The adjacent side has a length of radical 3 and the hypotenuse has a length of 2. Can you tell me what the angle is, Leon?"

"Adjacent over hypotenuse represents the cosine of an angle. When the cosine is radical three over two, the corresponding angle is 30 degrees," replied Leon in a calm, confident tone.

"Very good." As odd as Leon was, Mrs. Cornell couldn't deny the boy's intelligence.

Leon briefly glanced out the window and noticed some children about his age playing in the street. Watching with curiosity as the group tossed around a ball, he realized that he didn't envy them. What was the purpose of those games they enjoyed so much? They certainly wouldn't learn anything from them. Leon couldn't comprehend why they would waste their time with such meaningless activities. Didn't they realize that learning was the way to achieve true perfection? They were the same age as he was; why didn't they act like him?

Leon wondered if those children knew that the cosine of a 30 degree angle was radical three over two. They probably didn't. In fact, they had probably never given any thought to the subject of trigonometry. Leon almost felt sorry for them. They must have lived very sad lives.

* * *

After a fierce battle at Sector Y between the Cornerian Air Force and a fleet of Space Pirates, the Senate came up with the idea of Planetary Defense Day. The holiday was a thinly veiled attempt to reassure the populace that they were well defended. All throughout the planet, the Cornerian Armed Forces displayed its might with military parades and flybys. 

As both a senator and an ex-fighter pilot, Stanislaus was obligated to play a role in the activities of Planetary Defense Day. The Air Force was holding an air show at a beach near Corneria City, and Stanislaus took the opportunity to launch his next re-election campaign, bringing Karolina and Leon along to the event. It was a bright summer day, and the mix of warming sunlight and cooling sea breeze provided the perfect atmosphere for the reptilian Powalskis.

Stanislaus spoke from his podium. "My friends, this is a day for us to think about our safety. As an elected official, it is my sworn duty to ensure that Corneria and its citizens are…"

Leon found the subject of his father's speech to be quite boring. The boy had no interest in listening to the drollery of politics, choosing instead to wander off and walk along the beach by himself.

Leon strolled down the coast, letting the water from the breaking waves wash over his feet. He could be rather solitary at times. Leon simply couldn't understand others; they didn't act like him, think like him, or share his motives. Except for his parents and tutors, they offered him nothing.

The distant roar of a fighter engine caught Leon's attention. At that moment, a pilot was flying his vehicle over the ocean. Leon knew very little about the Cornerian Air Force; it was not a subject his tutors had taught him about. His father may have been a former pilot, but Stanislaus, electing to spend most of his time focusing on senatorial duties, rarely had the chance to tell Leon stories of his days in the Force.

Enraptured by the sight, Leon stared at the fighter as it put on a display for the air show. He watched with amazement as it performed all manner of aerial maneuvers: it looped the loop, it made corkscrew turns, it dove sharply towards the water, and it rose up just before reaching the ocean's surface. Never before had Leon seen anything like it. He was instantly intrigued by the display. The pilot wielded so much power, controlling his vehicle like that. He could fly at supersonic speeds, he could dive, and he could flip. He could do whatever he wanted. He was the one in control.

Leon suddenly wanted nothing more than to become a pilot someday. Surely nothing in the universe could compare to flying one of those magnificent machines. Why, it must have been even more rewarding than learning a new subject from a tutor! Leon hadn't realized such a thing existed until that moment.

Becoming a pilot was obviously the true way to achieve perfection. Leon couldn't understand how he had been blind to the truth for so long.


	2. Chapter 2

Life at the Cornerian Air Force Officer's Academy was by far the most challenging experience of Leon's life, and he loved every moment of it. He had enrolled in the academy at the age of 18, knowing full well how trying it would be. The cadets went through a wide array of programs: physical training courses, combat instruction, and lectures on Cornerian military history, just to name a few. At any given waking hour, Leon had something to keep himself occupied. Best of all, he knew his academic regimen would grant him the greatest reward possible: flight.

Finally, after months of instruction and flight simulators, the day came for Leon to take flight for the first time. He walked across the runway at the academy, staring up at the sky. Ever since the day he saw the jet fighter soaring over the ocean, the sky had been tantalizingly out of reach. The vast blue expanse taunted Leon, begging him to conquer it. He saw it, he wanted to be a part of it, but he was powerless against it. That was finally about to change. Leon knew this would be the last time he ever looked up at the sky as an outsider.

An old CF09 fighter sat at the end of the runway. CF09s had been retired from combat use years ago; new cadets were the only ones who flew them now. Nobody cared if an inexperienced pilot wrecked an outdated fighter.

Master Sergeant William Reinhardt was one of the many academy instructors responsible for teaching first-year cadets, and the Doberman had been assigned to supervise Leon's first flight. Reinhardt stood next to the fighter with his arms crossed, waiting.

The chameleon approached the CF09 and saluted Reinhardt. The sergeant returned the salute.

"This is it, Powalski. The big day. You nervous?"

Leon's reply was both instantaneous and earnest. "No, sir." What did he have to be nervous about? The flight would either be successful or it wouldn't.

Reinhardt laughed. "You're quite the confident one, aren't you? Flying for real is a hell of a lot different from flying in a virtual reality machine. I've seen plenty of cadets panic in the middle of their first flight. You want me to guide you through the steps by radio?"

"With all due respect, sir, I think I'm capable of doing this by myself."

"Is that so? Well then, Powalski, you'd best get moving. There's only one way to find out if your abilities are on par with your words."

Leon climbed into the cockpit of the CF09. He went through the standard procedures: priming the engine, adjusting the flaps. The jets roared. The fighter began to move down the runway. He grabbed the control stick. The fighter gradually rose into the air. He retracted the wheels. The entire procedure felt instinctual; it was as if his hands knew exactly what angle to keep the control stick at, what button to press, and when to press it.

Leon let the aircraft rise until it reached an altitude of 8000 feet. He steadied the control stick. The trancelike state Leon had been in since takeoff suddenly ended; he realized that he was truly flying.

The sky was no longer a distant goal, nor was it out of reach. The blue void, extending infinitely in all directions, seemed to wash over and embrace him. He had become integrated with the sky.

A grin spread across Leon's face. It was only a matter of time now before the Academy moved onto the next step in his instruction: space flight. The boundless expanse of outer space offered unlimited possibilities for whoever dared travel it. The sky wasn't the limit; it was merely the starting point.

* * *

"Dammit! Once these Pirates start tailing you, they don't stop 'till they're dead! You know how much I hate asking for help, but I'm in a bind here, Lieutenant!" 

Within months of his graduation from the Officer's Academy, the 22-year-old Lieutenant Leon Powalski found himself commanding a squadron in the heat of battle. Space Pirates had attacked the Lylat System en masse via Sector Z, and Leon was amongst the scores of pilots the Cornerian Air Force had sent to repulse the invaders.

Leon's squadron consisted of himself and three wingmen who, while capable pilots, occasionally seemed to need bailing out during combat. One wingman, a puma by the name of Stevenson, required assistance quite often; the Sector Z battle was no exception.

Leon maneuvered his state of the art CFS25 fighter to his right, in the direction of the Space Pirate following Stevenson. The Pirate was piloting a Frankenstein's monster of a vehicle; it seemed to have been made from the parts of at least five different jets. In spite of its bizarre appearance, the Pirate's fighter was a force to be reckoned with. Space Pirates had a knack for converting old junk heaps into speedy and agile custom-made aircraft. The chameleon would have to hurry if he was to keep the Pirate from blasting his comrade.

The giant Z-shaped nebula off in the distance radiated a dark orange light, reflecting off the ships as they soared through the depths of space. Leon kept his fighter positioned below and to the rear of the Pirate, staying out of the pilot's range of sight. He had no intention of letting his quarry discover he was being pursued until the last second. Suddenly, with one swift motion, the CFS25 moved upward so it was directly behind the Pirate. Leon fired one blast from his fighter's plasma cannons, hitting the Pirate's vehicle directly in the jet engine.

Its engine destroyed, the Pirate's fighter swayed back and forth unsteadily for a few moments, as if not knowing what to do. The fuel tanks exploded, and the jet quickly disappeared in a fireball.

"Thanks for the save, Lieutenant," said Stevenson, his voice crackling over the radio. "I'd be a goner without you. I wish I didn't need your help here, but jeez, there's so many goddamn Pirates!"

Stevenson had a point. The massive Space Pirate flagship, stationed in the middle of the sector, seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of fighters flying out of its hangars. Any progress the Cornerians made was immediately rendered useless by a new wave of Pirates.

A radio message emanating from the Cornerian commander, General Szlora, was sent out. The General was overseeing the battle from the safety of a distant command ship.

"Attention all Cornerians! We have no choice to retreat! Back off and form a defensive perimeter against the Pirates. There's just too many of them for a direct attack."

The chameleon was outraged at what he heard.

"Absolutely pathetic. No General worth his stars would give up this easily. Doesn't he realize that the Pirates will terminate their attack if we take out their flagship? I can do it myself," Leon informed his squadron.

"What?!? Are you insane, sir?" Pirello, another wingman, was practically in a panic as he shouted over the radio. "This is suicide!"

"A lesser pilot would, perhaps, dismiss it as being unachievable," replied Leon. "But a task is only impossible if you convince yourself that it is. Besides, the Pirates won't be expecting a singular pilot to attack the flagship. Wish me luck."

Leon turned his radio off. He couldn't afford any distractions. He fired the jets on his CFS25 and flew towards the Space Pirate flagship. Indeed, just as he suspected, the Pirates paid little attention to him at first. Leon looked like just another Cornerian fighter whizzing about the sector.

As Leon moved closer and closer to the flagship, its crew became aware of his intention to attack them. The anti-aircraft guns protruding from the ship's hull opened fire, unleashing a barrage of plasma beams directed at Leon. The chameleon's instincts overcame him, bringing him into a trance. His eyes focused on nothing but the incoming salvo. Leon felt time slow to a standstill as he dodged beam after beam. He had never been so close to death before; it was a unique feeling, exhilarating in a way.

He had navigated successfully through the barrage, taking only a few hits. Leon reached the flagship itself; he flew directly above it, safely out of the anti-aircraft guns' line of sight. At the other end of the ship, a gigantic control tower rose out of the frame, looming over the vessel. It was an inviting target: the perfect spot to deal a fatal blow to the flagship.

Leon had a clear shot at the control tower from his vantage point. A surface-penetrating microfusion missile, issued to squadron commanders before major battles, was affixed to the underbelly of his CFS25. He could destroy the ship from the inside out with a well-placed shot, but he only had one missile in stock. He needed to make his move soon, and he would get no second chance if he missed. Adrenaline surged through Leon's body. He was truly alive, and no one could deny it. There was no other way to get a rush like the one he felt.

Leon activated his fighter's launching device. He manipulated the missile launcher with the control stick, envisioning the path the rocket would take at each angle, and decided upon a position that seemed to be accurate. It was now or never. He launched the missile.

Leon watched the rocket as it blasted towards the Pirate flagship, leaving behind a trail of frozen propellant in the cold vacuum of space. He waited calmly to find out if it would hit its target. Leon smiled contentedly as he saw the missile nearing the control tower; his mental calculation had been flawless. He made a u-turn and fired the jet engines. If he wished to leave the sector alive, he needed to get away from the cruiser as quickly as possible.

The missile's titanium-alloy tip pierced the tower, allowing it to burrow inside. The rocket did not immediately detonate; the vessel sat still for a moment, seemingly unscathed. The calm was soon broken as the missile exploded, rocking the entire flagship. Portions of the tower were blasted off, with plumes of fire emitting from the newly formed holes. Cracks formed along the ship as it depressurized. The fractures continued to expand down the hull until the entire cruiser was covered with gaping fissures. The ship began to fall apart. The vessel's nuclear reactor was destroyed, and the flagship was suddenly engulfed in a blinding fireball.

Leon looked with pride at the clusters of rubble that now floated throughout the sector. It was all his doing. He alone had reduced a once-mighty space cruiser to masses of twisted metal. Not at all unimpressive, if he said so himself.

The flagship had contained both the Pirate commanders and their nearly endless supply of fighters. Without them, an attack on the Lylat System was futile. The remaining Pirates hastily fled the sector.

Leon switched his radio back on. The nearly hysterical voice of Pirello immediately drifted through the speaker.

"Holy SHIT! You did it! You actually did it! You really…"

Norbekov, another wingman, cut off Pirello mid-sentence. "That was incredible! I didn't think you'd make it, Lieutenant!"

"You should have known better, Norbekov," Leon replied with a chuckle. "It takes more than that to get rid of me."

Leon made his way back to the Cornerian command ship, still feeling euphoric. The combat high had not worn off yet. The rush of adrenaline Leon felt during battle was like a narcotic. It made him feel alive. It was his subsistence.

Leon landed in the hangar of the command ship. A massive crowd of airmen had assembled, cheering wildly as he got out of his fighter. Leon was suddenly in the spotlight, and he had little choice but to see where it lead him.

The ceremonies honoring him for his courage during the attack, the medals he was awarded, the high-ranking officers he shook hands with, the promotion he received: they all meant nothing to Leon. No one needed to remind him of how skilled he was. He knew it perfectly well. Leon had tasted life as he evaded the plasma barrage and destroyed the Pirate cruiser. Loyalty to Corneria and service to the Lylat System were unimportant notions; they simply came with the job. The rush of combat: that was what being a pilot was truly about.


	3. Chapter 3

At the age of 34 years, Leon Powalski was the youngest member of the Cornerian Air Force to reach the rank of Colonel, and no one was less excited about the achievement than the chameleon himself. Each time he had been promoted, his military career had become duller and duller. Each rise in rank brought about new – and tedious – responsibilities. Gone were the days when he actively fought in battle; the Air Force had shifted his duties from combat to administration.

Leon had also been made commander of Camp Seiger, a moderately sized Air Force base on Corneria. For him, that was the worst part of his promotion; he couldn't think of a more tedious job to have than base commander. Leon spent most of his time at his desk, signing paper after bureaucratic paper and conferring with his subordinates at stuffy staff meetings. Every soldier was supposed to aspire to becoming a Colonel or General someday, but how could anyone consider something so boring to be a goal?

Not that it mattered much, anyway. Even if Leon had still been a Lieutenant or a Captain, there wouldn't have been any battles for him to fight; the Lylat System had been peaceful for years. The wars against Space Pirates and the like were long over. Most Lylatians couldn't be happier about the tranquility of the system. For Leon, though, the situation was the pinnacle of monotony. There was nothing exciting about peace.

Leon sighed as he shuffled through the quiet halls of Camp Seiger, looking downward as he slowly moved his feet across the floor. It was the middle of the night, but his mind was far from asleep. He couldn't stop thinking about what his life had devolved into. Leon wondered, half-jokingly, why he bothered to stay in the Air Force. The thought refused to leave his head. What reasons **did** he have for staying in the Force? Why did he continue to serve Corneria when he got nothing of value in return?

Perhaps he had been lingering in the Air Force with the hope that things would become interesting again. A brief skirmish was all that was needed to pull Corneria into combat; a quick scuffle could be the spark that ignited a fierce war. But the Lylat System didn't seem like it was about to change, and Leon couldn't stand another dull moment of waiting around.

Should he resign? No, that would take too long. The resignation process involved countless meetings with pen-pushing bureaucrats, and Leon had already encountered more of them than he wished to meet in a lifetime. Desertion would be much simpler; Leon was the highest-ranking officer at Camp Seiger. With a believable excuse, he'd have no trouble leaving the camp.

Leon realized that desertion meant he could never return to Corneria. He wondered if he would miss anyone, and he promptly realized the answer: no. He did, however, feel a sort of attachment to his now-elderly parents, and he felt somewhat bad knowing that they would have to deal with the shame of his desertion. Still, they were the ones who brought him into existence, and they should have been prepared to face the consequences.

Leon had heard of space outposts located outside the Lylat System. They were autonomous worlds, devoid of authority, where mercenaries had the freedom to operate. Mercenary: it was the perfect job for Leon. There would always be certain elements who wanted their enemies eliminated by force, and that was where the mercenaries came in. They got to experience the thrill of combat even when there were no official wars. Becoming a mercenary was the way to live again!

The chameleon walked to his quarters to collect a few items before leaving. He packed several pairs of clothes and 500 Lylatian dollars (though he didn't know how useful the currency would be outside of the system) into a suitcase. Grabbing the blaster he kept under his pillow, he placed it in his holster and left the room, not bothering to lock the door as he shut it.

Leon strode through Camp Seiger's halls with his suitcase in hand, energized at the prospect of a new life. He arrived at one of the base's aircraft hangars. It was almost completely deserted at such a late hour, guarded only by a napping cheetah who awoke as Leon approached.

"Hmmm…wha?" mumbled the cheetah groggily as he was jostled awake by the sound of footsteps. Identifying Leon as the owner of the footsteps, he immediately became alert and sharply saluted the commander. "Oh! I'm sorry, Colonel! There's no excuse for falling asleep on guard!"

"At ease, Corporal," said Leon as he returned the salute. "There are certainly worse offenses you could have committed. Well, I've just received a message from Corneria City. It turns out my presence is requested at a Senate hearing. Something to do with the budget, no doubt. It's not exactly an experience I'm looking forward to, but duty is duty. Would it be possible for me to use one of the jets here for transportation? I'm a bit pressed for time."

"Of course, sir," replied the guard as he stepped aside.

The cheetah hadn't bothered to check the veracity of Leon's story. He simply let him into the hangar, no questions asked. Leon conceded, with amusement, that being a Colonel did have a few advantages. He walked over to a sleek new Novek-7 fighter sitting in the hangar, its silver paint gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Leon had served Corneria for years; even if he was deserting, he was practically entitled to keep a jet for himself.

Leon climbed into the cockpit of the fighter. All aircraft at the base were equipped with a small reader that only unlocked the hangar doors when a valid Cornerian ID card was scanned. Leon took his identification card out from his pocket. He ran the card through the reader and the giant mechanical doors at the end of the hangar slowly opened. So much for theft prevention.

Leon activated the engine of the Novek-7 and fired the jets. The fighter rolled down the hangar and out onto the tarmac. He pulled back the control stick and the fighter rose into the air. Leon sighed and leaned back into the pilot seat. He was finally leaving it all behind. It had been a long time since he had something to look forward to.

The fighter continued to rise, soaring higher and higher into the star-filled night sky. Leon turned his head to take one last look as his former planet. The night side of Corneria would have blended in with the darkness of space were it not for the light emitted by towns and cities, dotting the surface of the planet like beacons. Never before had the planet looked so drab. Nothing could have made it worthwhile to stay there. He was relieved to be free from it.

The increasing amount of space rock Leon had to avoid indicated that he was nearing the Lylatian asteroid belt. He activated the Novek's radar system. He had heard that an outpost was located a couple of thousand miles east of the belt, and the radar confirmed it. He charged the jets to prepare the fighter for hyperspeed.

At the press of a button, the hyperspeed engine roared into the action. The jets released a pure white flame and the fighter became a speck of light zooming across the darkness of space. The Novek-7 was designed to shield the occupant from the increased forces experienced during hyperspeed, but Leon still felt pressed into his seat. Distant stars blurred into bright streaks of light as the fighter rapidly soared through the emptiness.

Leon wasn't sure how long he was in hyperspeed. It was difficult to perceive time when moving at such a blinding speed. Monitoring the radar, Leon waited until he was close enough to his destination. He gradually brought the fighter out of hyperspeed, and a feeling of stasis steadily returned to his body. As his eyes became accustomed to normal speed, he saw a dot, not resembling the stars and looking much closer than them, off in the distance through the cockpit window. It must have been the outpost. Leon set the Novek's jets to a low setting and let the fighter slowly approach the dot, giving his vehicle a chance to rest after hyperspeed.

He was within sight of his new existence. Leon felt the outpost beckoning him, offering him rejuvenation. It almost seemed to promise a salvation. As he moved towards it, two blips started flashing on the side of the radar screen. The objects appeared to be headed in Leon's direction. Sure enough, as he turned his head to the left, he saw two junky-looking fighters flying towards him. The pilots were probably little more than unskilled thugs, obviously lacking the funds for having decent vehicles. A voice spoke on Leon's radio.

"Well, Jack, would you look at this? This guy's got quite a fancy jet."

A second voice came through the speaker.

"Fancy indeed, Steve. It's even got the Cornerian insignia on it. Looks like our soldier friend is scouting the outpost."

"He's got some nerve. We don't need soldiers coming out here and telling us what to do."

Leon activated the cockpit microphone and voiced his reply.

"Actually, I'm no longer active in the armed forces. I happen to have just recently concluded my Air Force career. This fighter is a, well…let's call it a souvenir that I helped myself to when I quit. I was hoping to see if I could make it out here as a mercenary…but I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that you two fellows don't believe a word I say."

"You got that right. You're not fooling anyone, buddy. Mind if I do the honors, Jack? I wanna show this guy what happens when you butt in where you don't belong."

"Sure, why not?"

Steve, piloting the smaller of the two fighters, sped up and flew in a straight line towards Leon: a rookie mistake. Leon dove sharply and turned up below Steve's fighter, firing at its unarmored underside. One plasma shot was all that was needed to destroy the ship.

"No! You'll pay for that, you son of a bitch!" Jack's voice, even with radio distortion, was audibly enraged.

"A pilot who makes elementary mistakes deserves such a fate," remarked Leon with a laugh. "Let's find out if you're any better than him."

Jack appeared to be the smarter of the duo, or at least he learned from his late friend's shortcomings. He flew in an oscillating zigzag as he approached Leon, making it more difficult to be hit. He still, however, made a crucial mistake; he didn't change his pattern. Jack moved back and forth at the same predictable points. Leon was able to time an attack and fire a blast from his plasma cannons, striking Jack between curves. Jack's fighter burned for a few seconds before exploding into a fireball, releasing shards of metal in all directions.

Leon continued, undaunted, to the outpost. He grinned. He had a feeling he'd like it out there.


	4. Chapter 4

The massive hangar doors of the space outpost, evidently triggered by motion detection, slid open as Leon flew towards them. He landed his Novek-7 fighter in the hangar, opened the cockpit, and looked around. The giant room was filled with all manner of aircraft.

Outpost frequenters moved about the hangar, paying little attention to Leon as he walked through the room. He was neither an administrator nor a commander anymore; he was just another face in the crowd. The anonymity was refreshing.

The chameleon noticed a corridor at the end of the hangar with a sign over it that read "Residencies." He walked down it and wound up in a lobby-like room, with a scruffily attired hawk sitting behind a counter. Four hallways extended out from the lobby, labeled "A," "B," "C," and "D"; countless doors aligned the walls of the each hallway. They looked to be apartments.

"Excuse me? Do you, by any chance, accept Lylatian dollars here?" Leon asked the hawk.

The hawk chuckled and cleared his throat.

"You're in luck, pal, 'cause we do. Hell, most of the folks here were born in the Lylat System. Rooms are 25 bucks a night. I take it you're new to the outpost?"

Leon nodded.

"I thought so," replied the hawk with a smile. "You probably know this already if you came all the way out here, but I'll tell ya anyway. There are only two things to do at this place: be a mercenary or hire one. You planning on one of those?"

"Yes. I'm hoping for the former."

"Okay. If you've got any skill, you'll have no trouble getting the money. The reward for one mission alone is usually enough to cover a couplea' months rent. Word to the wise: the place to be for mercenaries is Harry's Restaurant. You can get there from the main hangar. If you're looking for a contract, all you hafta' do is sit at one of the wall seats. That's where all the transactions take place. Well, enough with that. You said you were looking for a place to stay. How's room B234 sound?"

"Like any other room, I suppose."

The hawk laughed loudly, breaking into a hacking cough.

"You're a funny guy, you know that? Here's the key to the room. Rent is collected each morning. And one more thing: good luck out here, pal."

The hawk winked and handed Leon the key to B234. Leon nodded his thanks and walked down the hallway labeled "B." He found his room, unlocked the door and, feeling exhausted, lay down on the bed. The room wasn't exactly accommodating, but Leon had the best night's sleep he had in ages.

* * *

The food at Harry's Restaurant was better than anything that had ever been served in a Cornerian mess hall. Leon had gone there in the morning and sat along the wall, eating breakfast and waiting, but no one seemed to notice him. The hawk hadn't been fooling about the place being a center of business; Leon saw the furtively moving figures walking to the wall seats, quietly conversing with the diners sitting there, handing them briefcases or bags, and walking away. Perhaps they were avoiding him because he was new to the outpost. Did they only trust well-established mercenaries? Leon took a sip from his coffee mug. All he could do was wait. 

As he took a final drink of coffee, Leon heard the sound of approaching footsteps, the noise a bit muffled by the carpeting. Someone was walking towards his table. The stranger wore a brown overcoat, a grey felt hat pulled down across his face, and sunglasses. It was difficult to identify his species.

"You have any experience?" asked the stranger in a hushed voice.

"I was in the Cornerian Air Force for over a decade. Wouldn't you call that sufficient?"

"Good enough. Now listen closely. A guy by the name of Durande started running a weapons smuggling racket around here last month. Don't know much about Durande's outfit, but I do know this; business at my organization has been suffering ever since he muscled into the outpost. I need you to send a message to this pesky interloper by disposing of one of his shipments. Naturally, you'll be compensated for your efforts."

"And we're talking along the lines of…?"

"1000 bucks. 250 before, 750 after. Durande makes a shipment in about two hours. Do the job today. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Excellent. You'll find 250 bucks and some maps detailing Durande's shipping routes in this briefcase. That's all you'll need for now. Meet me here tonight when you're finished and you'll get the rest."

The stranger placed a briefcase on Leon's table, turned around, and walked away without saying another word.

His first contract as a mercenary; it was a proud moment for Leon.

* * *

Leon sat waiting in his fighter, alone in the emptiness of space. A note on a map the stranger gave him informed Leon that Durande only made one shipment a day. There was only one chance to destroy the target; knowing that made the situation feel even more exciting. Leon looked over the maps one last time. He was definitely in the right place. 

Leon could see Durande's space freighter off in the distance as it slowly trekked along. It was a lumbering mass of a vehicle, severely lacking in agility but more than compensating with thick armor. Leon fired an electromagnetic chaff rocket, temporarily cloaking his fighter from the freighter's radar. It had been years since the last time he stalked his quarry; he really did miss the feel of the hunt.

The Novek-7 flew undetected as it approached the vehicle. A gigantic laser turret sat on top of the freighter; Durande obviously took precautions when it came to defending his shipments. The turret did not appear to be covered with the same impenetrable armor that protected the rest of the ship.

The temporary concealment offered by the chaff would soon run out. Leon took advantage of the last moments of safety and aimed for the turret. He fired a slew of missiles just as his fighter was picked up on the freighter's radar.

The freighter shook as the missiles detonated on the turret, but much to the chameleon's surprise, it appeared to be undamaged. The freighter's crew was now fully aware of Leon's presence; his fighter was suddenly peppered with fire from small anti-aircraft guns on the hull. The laser turret was charging, its muzzle glowing a bright red. Leon's heart was racing. A battle only became exciting once your life was at stake.

The turret, like the freighter itself, was powerful but slow. It would be difficult for the weapon to hit a nimble jet like the Novek-7. Leon fired his engines and maneuvered his fighter in an erratic path. A blast from the turret whizzed past his vehicle, narrowly missing him. Again came a surge of adrenaline. Leon was alive. He flew as fast as he could towards the turret. There was, perhaps, one way to destroy it.

Leon moved in close to the ship. He was safe from the side mounted anti-aircraft guns, but the laser could still reach him. He discovered that the freighter wasn't completely unscathed by his attack; a small crack had formed on the turret. If he was quick enough, he could do it before the laser had a chance to recharge…

Leon felt overcome with a fury as he attacked the fissure. He simply blasted it as fast as he could with his plasma cannons. The weakened metal along the fissure glowed white hot as it was heated by the plasma blasts. The turret laser, aimed directly at Leon, was almost fully charged. The victor of the battle would be determined in a matter of seconds.

The fissure finally cracked open, leaving a small hole in the turret. Leon fired an incendiary missile through the opening; the freighter, loaded with weapons and explosives, was a tinderbox. Leon activated the fuel boosters on his fighter and flew away as quickly as the jets would take him, practically destroying his engines in the process.

The first explosion, caused by the missile, was not exceptionally large. The second explosion, caused by the freighter's volatile cargo catching fire, resulted in the vehicle blowing up in a brilliant, chemical-tinged fireball.

Safely distant, Leon watched with satisfaction as the freighter was annihilated. The combat high lingered; he felt intoxicated. He was back in business.

* * *

The service at the bar at Harry's Restaurant was excellent as well. They offered a wide array of drinks, and Leon ordered a brandy to celebrate his success. A sense of alcohol-amplified nostalgia swept over him. He felt happy, even optimistic, for the first time since his early years in the Air Force. He could envision a bright new future for himself at the outpost, full of excitement. Life would be perfect. 

As he sat on a barstool, Leon felt a metal object jabbed into his back. He heard a voice speak from behind him.

"One wrong move and I pull the trigger. If you value your life, I suggest you pay attention to everything I say."

"You're threatening me here, in a crowded place like this?" Leon asked calmly. He took a sip of brandy. "That doesn't strike me as the wisest choice. I daresay you wouldn't get away with it."

"Maybe so, but even if I get caught, you'll still be dead . Now listen up, 'cause you've only got two choices here. A: You keep playing the smartass game, I unload this blaster into your spine, and we both face the consequences. B: You do what I ask and I might let you live. Now what'll you choose? A or B?"

"Very well," replied Leon with a sigh. "What, precisely, do you want me to do?"

"Walk slowly out of the restaurant, and down the hall. No sudden movements. Keep walking until I tell you to stop."

Leon got off the barstool and casually walked out of Harry's. Unlike the restaurant itself, the hallway leading away from it was deserted. The voice spoke again.

"Okay. Now turn around."

Leon slowly faced his assailant, wondering what he would look like. The owner of the voice turned out to be a rather short possum. He was far from a physically imposing specimen, but the blaster he gripped in his hand made him quite deadly.

"I expect you to fully answer everything I ask. Got it?" The possum's voice, though quiet, was noticeably agitated. "I work for a certain Mr. Durande. My boss was less than pleased to learn that his latest shipment was destroyed en route to its destination. We don't like it when someone decides to interfere with our business. Our organization has plenty of connections out here, and we've learned that you were the one who blew up the freighter. That's all we know so far, but I'm gonna change that. Now tell me: who hired you to do it, and who did he work for?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Even if I did, I doubt I would divulge such information with the likes of you."

"Wrong answer, wiseass. You've got 'till the count of three to spill your guts, or I'll spill 'em for you."

The possum aimed his blaster at Leon's chest.

"One!"

Leon simply had nothing to say.

"Two!"

There was no way out. Leon kept his eyes wide open, curious as to what his own death would be like.

"Three!"

A piercing bang echoed throughout the hall. The possum slumped to the floor. Behind him stood the lean figure of a wolf, clutching a smoking blaster. The wolf looked to be several years younger than Leon. A black patch covered his left eye.

"Nice shot," remarked Leon. "And with one eye, no less. What prompted this heroic rescue?"

"I happened to sit down at the other end of the bar a few minutes ago. This fellow here thought nobody noticed when he lead you out of the place at blasterpoint, but, as you can see, he was mistaken. That bastard Durande has agents all over the outpost. I figured that anyone on his group's hit list couldn't be all that bad. The name's Wolf O'Donnell, by the way."

"Wolf? How apt."

"Yeah…my parents were nice folk, but they weren't exactly what you'd call the creative types."

"I suppose I should introduce myself as well. It's the least I can do after being saved. Leon Powalski, at your service."

"**The** Leon Powalski? Cornerian war hero? I remember hearing about you back when I lived in the Lylat System. Didn't think you'd be the deserting type."

"'Learn something new every day,' as the old adage goes."

"Apparently so. Well, I'd love to stay and chat with you, Leon, but this place is loaded with Durande's goons. Once they discover that our possum friend isn't playing possum, they'll be all over us. You might want to consider hightailing your ass out of here. That's what I plan on doing, at least. Not exactly a glorious escape, but at least I'll be alive."

"Sound advice."

As they ran to the hangar, an angry voice from behind them shouted, "Shit! They wasted Marco, and now they're gettin' away!" Wolf turned and fired a few blaster shots down the hall, silencing whoever was at the other end. They reached the hangar, and Leon quickly hopped into his Novek-7. He saw Wolf jump into his jet, and the two flew out of the outpost and into the depths of space.

Leon turned on the radio in his fighter and contacted Wolf on his frequency.

"Again, I thank you for saving me," said the chameleon. "I assume that neither of us are welcome at the outpost anymore."

"I think that's a safe bet."

"Damn. Most of my money is still in my room."

"While I won't deny the incredible degree to which it sucks losing your money like that, you should be glad to be rid of that outpost. Durande isn't the only one who runs a smuggling ring there. I can't even count the number of competing 'businesses' who call the place home, and the way I see it, it's only a matter of time before there's an all-out war between them."

"Oh."

The two said nothing for a while, but Leon couldn't bear the silence for long. He felt a need to learn more about this being who saved him for no apparent reason.

"If you don't mind me asking, Wolf, how did you end up at the outpost?"

"It's a long story, but hey, I've got the time. I used to work for a Lylatian-based interstellar protection agency. I'd be assigned to accompany ships traveling between planets, solar systems, whatever, and keep them safe. You know, protect them from bandits, Space Pirates, and like-minded scumbags. It was a great job, I must admit. I had a hell of time out there. On one mission, I was assigned to a mineral freighter traveling from the Ozoul to the Lylat System, and the convoy was attacked mid-voyage by a swarm of bandits. My fighter took a lot of damage in the battle and a piece of shrapnel embedded itself in my left eye, thus rendering me the cyclops you know and love so well. Even though I could still pilot a fighter just as well as when both my eyes worked, my boss didn't care. He said I was a liability, and he canned me as soon as he discovered what happened. I was none too pleased to find out that I had been fired from the one job that meant everything to me, and…let's just say my boss learned firsthand that the only tool you need to perform a full-frontal lobotomy is a blaster. I can't say I'm proud of what I did, but what happened, happened."

Wolf paused, as if innocently shrugging his shoulders.

"Obviously it wasn't safe for me to stay in the Lylat System after that, so I looked for another place to go. That's when I went to the outpost. I wanted to be a mercenary. I wanted to get the same thrills I felt when I was in the agency. Fighting makes me feel, ah, it's hard to describe…alive, I guess. When you fight, you get a rush unlike anything else. I didn't want to lose that feeling, and that's why I became a mercenary. It's not quite as stable as working for a prestigious agency, but believe me, it's just as thrilling."

Practically dumbstruck, it took Leon a long time before he could make a reply. Never before in his life had he met someone who echoed his own feelings so closely. Living to fight, fighting to feel alive: Leon was almost talking with himself. He instantly felt an admiration towards Wolf, partially for saving his life, but mostly for having such a familiar mind. Leon realized that he was not quite the singularity he had always believed himself to be.

"Wolf, have you ever considered forming a team?"

"I've entertained the thought. Why do you ask? Are you looking for someone to latch onto now that you're broke?"

"Ha! It would certainly be nice to remedy my money woes, but that wasn't why I asked. There are certain advantages to working in a team. The team is harder to destroy than the singular. The team can accomplish what the singular cannot. You seem to be one of the most capable pilots I've ever met. Even with one eye you're still an excellent shot! Plus, you appear to have the mindset of a true fighter. At the risk of sounding a bit peculiar, I do believe you're the only being I could actually coexist with."

"Really? How flattering, in a creepy way. You're a smart guy. I can find a reason to hate just about anyone, but…you know what? I don't think I hate you at all. Trust me, I'm just as surprised as you are. Got any ideas for a team name, Leon?"

"You're putting me on the spot here, but I'll try. Personally, I'd like 'star' to be incorporated into the name. It's concise, relevant, and even powerful in a way. How about 'Star Wolf?'"

"Again with the flattery."

"You did save my life. It only seems fitting for you to receive top billing. Besides, 'Star Chameleon' doesn't quite have the same ring to it."

"You have a point there. Star Wolf…I like it! Well, there's another outpost pretty close to here. As far as I know, this one isn't the epicenter of a smuggler's war. Might be a good place for us to go."

"Sounds like a plan."

Leon scanned the radar, looking for the coordinates of the other outpost. He couldn't even imagine what the future held for the team of Star Wolf, but he really didn't care. Whatever happened, it would undoubtedly be interesting. That was all that mattered.

-The End-


End file.
